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A Challenge #masturbationmonday

I don’t know if I want to fuck you, control you, give myself over to you, ignore you, fight with you, or lock the bathroom door and get myself off.

I throw my keys into the bowl on the side table in the hallway; they rattle and clatter around until they decide to stay in and slide into the bottom. It’s been a shit day – there have been quite a few of those lately and they’re taking their toll. Right now my body is tense and fizzing with dissatisfaction: my brow feels heavy, the scowl there a weight of its own.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I know that look. I know this might not end well. I am close to the edge and you’re my nearest target.

I take a few deep breaths as I walk towards the living room. I can hear the TV playing softly. You always put it on as soon as you enter the room, whether you’re watching it or not.

One look is all it takes.

You know I’m in a shitty mood. I can see your big brain calculating and assessing how to handle me.

Will it be the offer of a chat? Let’s talk things through, discuss a plan of fucking action? Or will you smile and walk off? Not up for the challenge tonight, tired and dispirited yourself, you might not have the energy to deal with me.

I try to tell myself that both of those options are understandable. But as I stand there, staring at you I can feel the dare in my eyes, I am a fucking challenge and I want to know that you’re up for it.

“Bad day?” You ask warily.

“Yes.” I snap.

“You seem wound pretty tight.”

“Yes.”

“Got a headache?”

I shake my head and clench my jaw.

“Want a massage?”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back on my shoulders. I open them and stare at the ceiling for a moment, trying to hold back my temper, but I can feel it seeping into my head, my body, my mind. The knot in my chest is growing, I don’t know if I’m going to laugh or cry. I know I’m being unreasonable, unfair to you.

You’re not a mind reader, I know that, but I want you to be. I want you to know me; I need you to understand me and I don’t know why but this feels like a defining moment for us. Am I being ridiculous?

Maybe, but there’s no turning back now.

“No I don’t want a fucking massage.” I say through gritted teeth.

You don’t respond. I finally meet your eyes and you’re looking at me intently. I shift my weight onto my other foot, feel my palms get a little damp. I am waiting and it is torture.

“Get your arse over here.”

My eyebrows lift up, but I like where this is going, so I take a slow step, then another and another until I am stood directly in front of you.

“You’re being a bitch, you know that right?” I don’t have time to answer before you carry on. “I know you’re having a rough time at the moment, babe, but you can’t come home and heap all your shit on me. We need to find a way to deal with it together, and no, I’m not on about talking it out.” You say wryly when you see my lips draw tight. “I know exactly what you need, you need me to spank that bitch right out of you.”

I feel my eyes go wide. I can’t actually believe you just said that.

“So get rid of your knickers, pull your skirt up and get your delicious arse over my lap.”

I watch you for a while, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you don’t flinch – you just keep looking at me like you can see through me.

“Do it now!” I see the impatience flash across your face and you sit forward a little and before I know it I’m kicking my knickers off and shimmying my skirt up over my hips.

As I lay myself over your legs I have an almost out of body experience looking down from the ceiling and I don’t know if this is where I should be.

I don’t have long to think about this before your hand connects with my arse. You aren’t holding back…it hurts. I try to get away but you hold me down.

I don’t speak, all the conflict is in my head, not with you.

I feel the burn as you systematically spank my round, full cheeks. I feel my body move, the vibrations through to my pussy.

Fuck! It’s ok to want this, right? I mean, I don’t have to be strong all the time, do I? It’s ok to give in sometimes, to let someone else take over for a while?

I feel the wetness between my legs, I know you can see it.

“Spread your legs a little.” You demand.

I do it, slowly.

I feel even more vulnerable now – you know it. Neither of us misses me tilting my arse up for more though. I hear you laugh, low and soft, as you gently stroke the heated skin.

Bastard! You need to stop enjoying this so much and get on with it. I want the burn, I want my skin to feel alive. I shift my hips again, a not so subtle message. I can’t help myself.

“Hold still. You’re not running this show.” This time your voice is sharp, a little hard.

You play with my pussy for a while, dipping a finger or two in, stroking my folds until I’m ready to scream. But I won’t. I never scream.

Your touch disappears, quickly replaced by heavy, methodical smacks that leave a deep burn. Every time your hand lands on my body, I feel a muscle relax until one by one I am a boneless heap on your lap and still you keep going. You have found a rhythm now and my body moves with it. I want you to take me outside of myself.

I want to forget all the shit, just for a moment.

I need you to make me give in.

As my head sags forward I feel your hand stroke across my now relaxed shoulders and you whisper, “That’s it, baby.”

More smacks rain on my now stinging flesh, I dissolve into each one.

Falling or flying? I don’t know I’m too relaxed to analyse it. All I can think about now is the deep, deep ache between my legs. I squirm on your lap. This time it is an unconscious act, but you read me well and quickly move your attention to where I need it the most.

I am a wet mess. I can feel it, but there is no shame, it’s part of my body’s release and you have brought me to this state.

There is room for other emotions now – the well of negativity has run dry for the time being. Now I feel full, that in itself is almost too much. I’m not comfortable yet, still feel edgy and not quite satisfied.

“Please.” I whisper.

Your fingers push into me: firm, sure strokes that I clench around. It feels good but I need… that – oh god – I need that right there. Your whole hand rubs and circles my clit, your thumb slips inside me, a token penetration, but it works, it all works.

Before I know it my body is rigid – so tense I think I might snap.

“Yes, yes, yes!” I pant.

I need it, oh god, please, I need it.

It’s building and I don’t remember ever feeling anything this intense before. My pussy is burning – everything feels so tight – over sensitive and a deep sensation in my abdomen is coiled, ready to explode. Out, I need to get it out, I need to finish this, to see if I survive it.

The coil is unwinding, spinning, like a Catherine Wheel and then in a moment of clarity I know I am done.

As always, thanks for reading. This is the first piece I’ve written in a while, things haven’t been great here and I think some of my frustration and annoyance might have spilled over into the story??!!!! I enjoyed writing it though, hope you enjoyed reading it.

You nailed this feeling so freaking right. In my case there’s never a desire to control, but sometimes there’s this overwhelming “Ugh” feeling, and now I have a new turn of phrase “spank the bitch right out of you.” Or, in my case, I’ll huff, sigh, and beg for a certain SSir to do that for me. This was hot, definitely, but it also rang SO true I assumed it was a personal story. You’re good…soooooo good.

This is my favorite one of yours, yet. It’s sexy as hell, which your work always is. But this time, the emotional need was what propelled this to be a great piece. Sorry things have been difficult. Keep writing.